Unintended Consequences, Melissa

[This is a romance. If you want wild, slam-bam sex this isn't the story for you. This is about the unintended consequence of an assignment given in innocence. I hope you enjoy it and I hope you want more of the story. Let me know, Ok?]

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Watching students come into my classes has always been a favorite study of mine, even when I was a student. What they wear, what they bring with them interest me. Where they choose to sit. As a professor I have ample time and opportunity to indulge my little pastime. Sometimes a particular student catches my attention for one reason or another.

One winter quarter I sat on the table at the front of the room watching the students arrive for the first class meeting and noted how very different some of them were from the others. The first three through the door were guys wearing the uniform so many young men on campus wore: jeans, sweatshirt and Nikes. They carried identical backpacks of the school colors. They sat in a line across the second row of seats.

They were followed by individuals who came in alone and sat in seats spaced so when they sat down they left empty desks close to them. They dressed for warmth and comfort, not fashion.

The next person in surprised me. She was dressed for comfort and warmth but her clothes also said, "I'm not from here." She wore hiking boots, old, worn, hiking boots, jeans that had seen lots of wear, a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle and a tucked in plaid western shirt. Her hair was in a pony tail threaded through a base ball cap that said "Idaho" on it. No back pack. A small book bag made by Timbuk2 and no purse. She picked a seat squarely in the middle of the third row and sat down. She didn't slump.

The next entrance was loud and colorful. If you've spent much time on a college campus you will know exactly who came in. I call them the giggle sisters. They think college is a social function and are much more focused on parties, laughter and being seen than getting an education. They tend to travel in packs. In this pack there were six. Short skirts, knee socks, sweaters, cleavage and lots of eye and lip make up. Bright colors and jewelry that made noise were part of the uniform. As usual they sat as a group and continued to talk. I knew to expect they would sit in class, do their nails, refresh their make up and lipstick, giggle and pass notes.

The rest of the class filed in and filled in the empty seats.

At a training I attended during the summer, it was recommended we assign research projects so our students actually needed to talk to people to get information. Most classes assigned research that happened in the solitude and quiet of the library. When I was a student I found I felt the library was a place where I could stop worrying about personal interactions. It was when I got to graduate school I found out how exciting personal interaction research could be.

I had written fifty different assignments on slips of paper, put each in a separate envelope and numbered them. In the first class meeting I explained that there would be only two grades given during the quarter. One for their mid-term exam and one for their project. I explained how the projects would be done and how each student would get their project.

Each would come to the front of the room and draw an envelope from the box on my table. The box was from a pair of athletic shoes I bought during the previous summer. Each envelope had a number on it. I had a list pairing the projects, their numbers and each student would sign their name next to the number they drew. Trades would not be allowed. They could complete their project by submitting a paper they wrote, a video they made, or by presenting in front of the class.

Questions were asked about the length of the papers (long enough to do justice to the topic), the length of the video (same answer) and how long, big and elaborate the in-class presentation needed to be (a minimum of ten minutes, and enough to do the topic justice). I let them know that they would need to spend fifteen to twenty minutes in front of the room answering questions about their project no matter how they presented the project. Written projects would need to be turned in with enough copies for the entire class and turned in no later than the class meeting before their chosen presentation time. Then I invited them to come up and choose.

No one moved for almost a minute. I said, "By the way, no one is to open your envelope until everyone has their envelope. Opening them before everyone has theirs will get your grade lowered by five points. Since there are only one hundred points possible five could make the difference between an "A" and a "B", or between passing and failing."

The young woman wearing the baseball cap "Idaho" stood and walked to the table beside me. She looked into the box and picked envelope number twenty-three. She used her green pen to sign her name and print it beside the number twenty-three on the page before her on the table. By the time she signed Melissa Watkins there were ten people lined up behind her. In fifteen minutes all forty-two students in the room had their envelopes.

I clapped my hands and they all looked at me. "I have office hours in room 322 in King Hall from now until seven this evening. After you open your envelope you can do one of three things. One, you can head to the main office and drop this class. Two, you can begin figuring out how to do the assignment or three, you can come see me and we'll talk about how to get the assignment done. Our next class session is Wednesday at one in the afternoon. We will discuss interviewing techniques, asking good questions and taking good notes. Thank you for playing." I picked up my notebook, the sheets they had all signed, the box with the envelopes that had not been chosen and walked to my office.

Melissa was there before me. I had watched her sign her name, Melissa Watkins, when she selected number twenty-three. She held the envelope in her hand. I unlocked the door and went inside. She followed and she closed the door. I went back and reopened it, propping it so it would not close. "I think you wanted privacy. I understand, however, it's my policy to always have the door open when I have a student in the room with me. Sorry. Please sit down."

She sat. I sat in my office chair and looked at the list I had that told me what assignment number twenty-three was. "Interview twenty-five people you do not know. Find out what social activity they are most afraid of. Pick one of the activities they fear and that you have not participated in and do it. Report on your research, their reasons for their fears and your reactions do doing something new and possibly scary."

I looked at her and she said, "I don't know what to do."

"You interview twenty-five people you don't know. You ask questions that get them to tell you what social activity they most fear. It may actually take more than twenty-five interviews because you may not be able to get some people to tell you. You keep good notes on the interviews. In the interviews, do your best to find out why they fear whatever it is they fear. Then, you get to look over the list and choose one of their fears, something that is something you've never done, and go do it. Do not put yourself in harms way. Jumping off a building is putting your self in harm's way. Bungee jumping is not. It can and is done with safety."

"So, I'm going to learn about the fears people have, why they have them and I'm going to need to confront one of those fears myself?"

"Yes! If you choose, you can do the interviews, and then meet with me to discuss the possible choices you may make and how to go about confronting the fear."

"Can I switch and pick an envelope that wasn't picked?"

"No. It may help to know that no one can switch."

She didn't say anything else. After a few moments she stood, turned and walked out. Five seconds passed and one of the giggle sisters came in and sat down. She held envelope number eight.

"Interview twenty-five people you do not know. Discover their beliefs about death and dying. Choose to attend any of the various public ceremonies associated with death in and around the cultures of the Los Angeles area (funerals, burials, memorial services, etc.). Your project is to examine the reasons for the beliefs you encounter and to document your personal reactions to the rituals and ceremonies you participate in."

She started crying when I looked up at her. "I'm afraid of death! I can't do this!"

"Can't or choose not to?"

"I can't!" Her eyes flared and she almost stomped her foot like a three year old might do. Almost.

"Then why did you come to see me?"

"I need a different project." The tears were gone. She was now negotiating. Her torso leaned towards me, showing just a bit more of her ample chest. I wondered what a bra would cost that would hold breasts on display that way.

I smiled. "In class I explained the rules of the class. No switching, no trading. You signed beside number eight. If you cannot or will not do the assignment then drop the class. It may not be easy but it is just that simple."

"Isn't there anything I can do that can change your mind?"

Reading between the words of her question was pretty easy. "Isn't there something you'd like me to do with my body and yours that would get me the grade I want without the work?"

"No. When you leave, tell the next person they can come in, please."

On it went until after six-thirty. Some were afraid of the interviews, some the doing of something they had never done. All wanted me to change the assignment. I didn't. I stayed in my office putting the results of the interviews into a new file in my laptop. I had verified some of what I had postulated might happen. Most of my students were afraid of getting close to other human beings and were afraid of anything new.

At our next meeting I asked if there were any general questions about the projects. Bob Costello asked if "we needed to quote from the interviews in our reports." I said, "Yes, but without specifically identifying someone by name."

The woman sitting next to him (Carol Cartwright) asked, "If the assignment I have goes well with the assignment someone else has, can we work together?"

"Yes. To make that possible I have a list for you of all the topics in number order. The only way someone will know what topic you have is if you volunteer your number. If you prefer to work alone, don't give out your number. If you work together you will each get the same grade. Each will still need to present your report as an individual and the report needs to identify your partner and the research methods you used."

Jose Martinez asked, "When can we give our reports?"

"As soon as you are ready." I showed them a blue folder on the table beside me. "In this folder are the class times of every class from now on. A portion of each class is reserved for presentations. If you sign up for a date and time you are required to be ready to answer questions on that date. If you choose to write your project as a paper, copies for everyone are to be passed out the class session before the date you sign up for. Every day late will be five points off your grade. No excuses." I paused and then said, "We will end this class session twenty minutes early so anyone who wishes can sign their name choosing when their project is due. Oh, you must sign in ink and print your name next to your signature."

The rest of that session we talked about gathering data, doing interviews and asking questions that got people to say more than yes or no. I was convinced that this method of teaching had captured their minds and they were engaged. They would learn a lot from the exercise.

Just before the end of my next office hours the giggle sister, Alisha Jackson, walked into my office. She normally wore scoop necked blouses and shorts. For this visit it was a halter top and a short skirt. As soon as she sat she slowly crossed her legs.

"Professor, I just can't go to a funeral! They scare me!"

"Well, what you chose is perfect. You can explore that fear, write about it and you can gather people or whatever you need so you can conquer the fear. I'd say the odds of you getting a very good grade are excellent. Now, you knew I wasn't going to let you change assignments. Why are you here?"

"Some professors let people do something else if an assignment is too hard."

"Professors and teachers like that are cheating the students. Imagine a class about the sonnets of Shakespeare where the teacher didn't demand the students read and write about the sonnets. He'd be cheating them of learning about great writing and reading to understand."

"You ask too much!"

"No. MS Jackson, you don't ask enough, of yourself."

"Do I have to say it?" She looked around the room and out in the hall.

"Say what?"

"I'll do anything to not have to do this assignment!" She underlined the word anything by the way she said it. She also uncrossed her legs and showed me her bare, shaved pussy.

"I recommend you drop the class. I'm not going to accept your open offer."

She closed her legs and stood. As she turned to go she said, "Fuckin gay professors!"

In our next class meeting I noted that twelve people had dropped the class. Alisha was still in the class. I asked, "I have eight assignments that have not been assigned. If I made it possible to trade your assignment for one of these eight, with the stipulation that once chosen you cannot go back to the assignment you have now, how many of you would like to trade?" Twenty hands went up. Alisha's hand was the first one up.

I had them get up and stand by the walls. I asked the seated students if letting them trade was Ok with them. No one moved for a long time then Alex Mendoza raised his hand. I nodded to him and he said, "They knew the rules when the game started. We all had the same odds of getting a hard assignment or an easy one. I'm against letting them change the game."

One of the giggle sisters, the one who wasn't against the wall, raised her hand and spoke. "I think we should let them switch. The whole thing isn't fair. Some of the assignments are hard. I got lucky. Mine's is easy." (I hoped she wasn't an English major.)

Melissa Watkins said, "I think they should be able to trade and it should cost them five points from their grade to trade. That way all of us who don't trade get points for sticking to the original game."

One of the guys at the wall said, "You don't get anything! We lose."

I wrote three choices on the board. One, they keep the assignment. Two, they can trade for one of the eight. Three, they can trade for one of the eight, but trading costs them five points. A stack of 3x5 cards were passed out to the seated students. "On your card write your vote: One, Two or Three." I walked the aisles and collected the cards.

One of the standing students asked, "Why don't we get to vote?"

"Two reasons. One, this isn't a democracy and Two, this vote is about you and about you wanting to change the rules of the game." As I spoke I sorted the cards. Three won.

I asked that all the students in the front three rows move back and that the standing students take those seats. The result was ten minutes of noise. Then I told the whole class we were going to take a break. The break would last twenty minutes. In that twenty minutes the people who still wanted the possibility of a new assignment were to decide who got the eight assignments. No one else would trade in the old for a new assignment." I looked at my watch and told them the time the break would be over. I gave them twenty-two minutes.

The people near the back got up and left. Three of the students who had been standing had changed their minds and they left the room too. The seventeen students left started talking. Knowing it cost five points to play had discouraged three students. I watched and listened. Sixteen minutes were used with people justifying why they should be one of the eight. Some of the women cried, two of the men yelled and one of the women called two of the women spoiled bitches. After those sixteen minutes someone suggested we take a stack of 3x5 cards and write the numbers one through eight on eight cards and let each person pick a card until all eight were gone. That got big support and the young man borrowed seventeen cards from me and prepared them. I lent him a box and all the cards were put in the box. I shook the box and asked them to come forward one at a time to choose. The eight assignment envelopes were on the table.

"If you draw a number you choose one of these eight envelopes, immediately. Then sign next to the number in the folder."

The first person came forward and I held the box above their eye level. She pulled a card out and it said "SIX". She picked up an envelope.

"Don't open it until they have all been chosen." She smiled all the way back to her seat. The next five got blank cards. The sixth, a giggle sister, reached in and drew "Two." She picked an envelope and signed for it. The very next person pulled a card from the box and proudly showed it. "One". He picked an envelope and signed for it. Six blank cards and then the biggest student in the class stood before me. Peter Andreoff. Easily six foot six or seven and at least three hundred fifty pounds. He wore a faded football jersey, number sixty six. He pulled number "Four." He signed and sat down with his envelope.

When there were six students left to draw there was only number, "Eight" left to be found. The six students stood in a line and the first five were females. The last, a short, very young, Hispanic boy. Each young woman smiled and reached into the box and came up with a blank card. Alisha was the third of those last five women. Enrique reached in and found only one card in the box. He lifted it out and broke into a big smile. On the card, a big "Eight". He signed the folder, took his envelope and sat down.

"Now, you have your new assignments. You may open them after class. If you need to see me about the assignments you have my office hours. Anyone who asks to change assignments will be docked five points. My coaching is available for technical details of getting your assignment done, only. You have lots to do. I noticed that over half of you have not chosen dates and times for your presentations. There is one time left on the second to last class. No times are left for the last class meeting."

A hand went up from one of the people who got a new assignment. "We have less time than the others. Shouldn't we be allowed to go last?"

"No. The sign up has been here for all of you for the same amount of time. You could have been first to sign up and then could have picked the last time slot on the last day. What stopped you from doing that?"

"I was intimidated by the assignment I chose."

"You didn't think about it. You went with a feeling. There are consequences for the choices you have made, are making and will make. In life there are damn few second chances. In this class there are seldom any at all, and each of them comes at a price. The first price for getting one of the eight numbers is that you lost over a week of research time. The second price was you gave up five points. It was your choice."

"Shit." He said, softly, but not so softly that I didn't hear him.

"Welcome to the real world." I dismissed the class and went to my office. No one followed me and I got some work done while I was available. On Friday I had office hours and students from a different class ate up a lot of my time, and it was all good. Only one student from the Monday, Wednesday class walked through the door. It was Enrique.

As soon as I saw him I remembered his assignment. "Interview HR executives for ten companies you would consider working for. Find out from them what it would take for you to get a job with them that would pay $100,000 a year, with full health benefits and a stock option or profit sharing plan. Have them review your resume and guide you as to what you need to do between now and being hired."